Epidemic
by A posse ad esse
Summary: Characters loosely based on those in the film. Two brothers get involved in something they never thought would happen. Rated for language and adult references.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Saints or...anything related to them. So...no need to sue me!

Epidemic- Chapter 1- The Beginning

Harsh, humid wind whipped around the car as it sped down the vacant highway. Even with the air conditioning on, the air inside was suffocating. The back of his arms clung to the vinyl seat, tearing away unpleasantly every time he moved, beads of sweat rolled a millimeter down his neck every second.

At the bottom of a steep, winding incline, the engine groaned, slowing the car to a near halt. The accelerator creaked as more and more weight pressed down on it, squishing tiny pebbles even deeper into crevices of old rubber.

He groaned. "Whatthefuckinghelliswrongwiththisgoddamnpieceofshit?" His words strung together in complete and total frustration as his foot remained glued to the pedal.

"Shut off the air." She mumbled, barely holding a cigarette between her lips, and fumbling for her lighter in the pocket of the door.

He reached over, pushed the button, and returned his hand to his outer thigh, tapping his fingers over the soft, worn denim. The car seemed to speed out of the wind, the humidity, and up the winding road towards the top of the mountain. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Of course her piece-of-shit car would need the a/c off to function properly. Everything else connected to her never seemed to work right, why should the car have been any different?

Her hand complete with freshly tacked on nails, courtesy of a very pleasant, smiley Korean girl, gingerly moved towards her eye._ She can't do shit with those nails. _He thought._ They're long enough to skewer a squirrel halfway down the River Shannon. _The muscles in his leg tightened as he debated slamming on the brakes. There was no one behind him; no chance of a collision. He'd just get to see those nails finally get some use, aside from being the cause of the scars and scratches on his back. The worn rubber on his shoe tottered towards the pedal. Too late. She had returned her hand to her lap and was now facing towards him.

"I'm real glad to be leavin' this shit hole." She said finally. "I'm gonna make a name for myself over in America." She grinned, her newly whitened teeth popping out from behind her ruby lips. He didn't even _want_ to know where or _how_ she had gotten the money for her little "makeover." She was still talking. "People are gonna appreciate me there, Murphy."

"Aye?" He didn't bother with any other remark, and let the silence fill in around them, or maybe it was the humidity returning as the neared the bottom of the hill. Either way, he much preferred the somewhat stuffy feeling to the chatter. The airport was only 16km away. Thank God.

She felt no need to fake sorrow or regret about leaving, or to say how much she would miss him and how she'd always cherish the memories they had together. Like the time Murph bailed her out of jail for prostitution or the time he paid her dealer off so she wouldn't be killed. Nope. None of that mattered anymore. She had been waiting to leave all her life. And there was nothing that was going to stop her. Lord knows Murphy wasn't even thinking about stopping her. In all honesty, he wouldn't miss her at all, and she felt the exact same way.

A woman's voice echoed through the huge building, announcing the departure of Flight 101 to New York. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and turned towards the gate without a word. He liked it better that way. Being able to watch her walk out of his life in silence, without another snotty remark, was more than worth the hundreds of dollars he'd wasted on her and her "habits". She got closer and closer to the departure gate, then suddenly turned around.

He had just put on his sunglasses and was turning towards the exit. "Motherfucker. Somebody fuck me in the ass." He muttered, roughly thumbing the rosary around his neck. It had all seemed too good to be true.

"Murphy?" Her hand reached into her dark gray coat and pulled out a key. "Take my car. I don't need it." She said, tossing the key to him. Without a smile or a wave, she turned round again, and disappeared through the gate.

He stared at the dull metal for a minute before pocketing it and walking back towards the car. There, rusting in the sunlight was his _new_ car. He chuckled. She'd never been a very good gift giver. First was that rather nasty rash she gave him for St. Patty's Day the year before, and now this rusted piece of shit. _Sweet lass. _He thought to himself, climbing into the car.

He arrived back into his hometown late that afternoon, sold the car to the highest bidder- a whopping 476 Euro- and walked back to his flat- the fifth floor of an abandoned warehouse in the south end of town. With two brand new cases (minus 4) of Guinness in one hand, he opened the door and stumbled in. The place was exactly how he had left it: Two mattresses on the floor, covered with clothing and a few sparse sheets on the east wall, three industrial showerheads lining the north wall, one with the curtain drawn. Beer bottles and cigarettes littered the table and couch.

"Murph!" Someone, slightly shorter, but more built than Murphy threw back the shower curtain. "You're back!!" He paused, his eyes drifting towards the slightly goofy smile on his twin brother's face, then down towards the cases in his left hand. "And you've got beer!!! _Corripe Cervisiam!!" _

He laughed and slapped his, still naked, brother on the back. "Aye, Connor. I've got beer. It's been a good day, man. A good fuckin' day."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you, wolfchick11 for the review! I've been having a ridiculous amount of trouble with this chapter, which is why it's taken so long, but here it is! Reviews would be appreciated! Thank you!! Oh, and "tippers" are just like dump trucks. haha. **

"Mornin' wee lassies! Lemme ask you a question. Why is it that all me workers are sitting on their big fannies?" Liam stood in the doorway of the breakroom, his "special" white hard hat dangling on his pudgy, callused finger. "Shouldn't you boys be...workin? I mean, if it isn't a big inconvenience or nothing." He had just about the thickest accent anyone had ever heard...and even thicker eyebrows.

Most of the new workers scrambled to get up, tossing their plain orange hard hats on, and hustling out of the building. Connor and Murphy, however, both stood up slowly, snuffing out their cigarettes in the glass ashtray.

"Oh, Liam. It's too damn early for you to be starting this shit already. Normally we don't get the honor of bein' called lassies until midday!" Connor laughed, slapping his boss on the back. Liam's faced cracked and a small smile appeared.

"Aye? Too early, eh? It's never too early fer discipline. You boys jus' need some discipline. I tell ya," The twins had already chugged down the rest of their coffee and were walking towards the door."...me own boys get up at the crack of dawn and build walls. They build walls, fer Christ's Sake! And look at you two, whinin' and complainin about a little, a wee little...trash cleanup? Ha!" He continued his laugh even as the boys closed the heavy steel door and stepped outside into the soft drizzle.

The rain, though pleasant to see, but not rare at all, made work much harder. Tippers slid in the mud and the water made the stench even worse. Connor slid into the driver's seat of a dump truck that had just arrived from downtown, much to his brother's dismay.

"Motherfucker! I'm not gonna sort everything again! I did it last week, Connor!"

"Aye? You're not gonna do it? Well, I reckon you are because, I don't believe my happy ass is getting outta this here truck, now...get sortin'." He smiled triumphantly as Murphy reluctantly returned to the back of the tipper and signaled for him to lower the tailgate, which let loose massive amounts of garbage.

It didn't take long for Murphy to be get most of the sorting done; it was easy work, though the stench could slow you down rather quickly. After about an hour, he climbed up in the bed to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Hooked onto some wire was something black. He got closer and realized it was a pistol.

"Oi! Connor! Come 'ere!!" He lifted the gun from the wire and twirled it around in the palm of his hand. "Looky what I found!" He smiled triumphantly.

"Oh, shit! Lemme see that!" Connor jumped up into the truck bed and looked around, making sure no one else saw. "Well, what're we gonna do with it?" His brother cocked his head to the side, in thought.

Five hours later, they walked, almost in unison, down the crowded sidewalk. The pistol, tucked in the hem of Murphy's worn jeans, clung to his skin uncomfortably. Eventually, they turned a corner and reached the stairs of a massive cathedral. It was strange for them to attend mass in the evening; normally they stopped by on the way to work in the early morning. Opening the heavy wood door, they noticed there were more people at the later service: more children, younger adults, people who worked in the morning and couldn't be bothered to get up that early just to go to church.

"Aye, Connor," Murphy nudged his brother once they were seated in the last pews of the church, "do ya think it's sorta...morally wrong to be carryin' a gun into church?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't remember there ever bein' a sermon about it."

They kneeled in silence for the remainder of the service. While in the morning service, everyone had gotten used to their regular "routine", the night congregation found the brothers rather odd. As they headed for the door, minutes before the service concluded, nearly everyone watched them.

Murphy waved, and smiled sarcastically, lighting up a cigarette as they reached the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: wolfchick11, thanks for all the reviews. I love reading them! **

_The buildings they shake but my heart it beats still _

_Oh mother of Jesus, I feel pretty ill _

_I want to go home where my feet both feel safe _

_But there ain't no jobs in the old free state_

Work was always the same, day in and day out. They'd get some coffee, smoke some ciggys, get yelled at to get to work, deal with shit, smoke some more, leave. It was a constant, mundane, excruciating cycle. The previous day, though, had been an exception.

With the pistol now safely holstered with Murphy in the front seat of the tipper, Connor began sorting. Boxes, shoes, old violins, he threw them all to their designated "areas" while in some sort of stupor. All he could think of was the gun.

" Somebody is dead because of that gun. I know it, Murph. Why else would it 'ave ended up at the landfill?" They had taken an early lunch, and were sitting in the break room, whispering.

His twin shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Maybe it ju-"

"No, it didn't jus' fall outta his goddamn pocket, Murphy. I'm fucking serious. This is serious." He sighed, placing his head on the table. Suddenly, there was a loud "crunch." Connor pulled his head up slowly, a bag of chips stuck to his head.

Murphy laughed. "Oh, yeah. Real fucking serious!" His brother ripped the chip bag from his forehead, and walked towards the door. "Oi! You gonna eat those?"

Back outside, Connor continued sorting. He was nearly half done when he grabbed a glove, but found it extremely heavy.

"What the fuck?" He pulled a little harder, praying the glove was just caught on a wire, but it didn't budge. "Murphy!"

Murphy climbed out of the truck. "If you are gonna ask to switch, I ain't doin' it. Nah-uh, hell no. Fuck you."

"Shut up! Come help me. This won't move." Connor growled, still pulling at the glove.

The two pulled and finally it broke loose, sending them flying backwards into all the...crap Connor had just sorted.

"What the fuck...?" The boys spoke at the same time, their voices low and solemn. In front of them lay a large man, dressed in a fancy suit, wearing gloves. Behind the double breasted jacket, dried blood caked the freshly pressed white shirt. "Go get Liam."

Murphy hurried back towards the main office, where Liam was eating lunch. When they returned to the site, Liam was shaking his head, looking around worriedly.

"Aye, boys..Ye shouldn't 'ave told me. Didn't ye listen when I told ye not to talk about anything you find here? I told ye on yer first day, boys. Now, jus...put it with the perishable stuff." He was still looking around, though avoiding eye contact with the boys.

They were stunned. "Are you kiddin' me, Liam? You've got to be fuckin joking!" The solemn look on Connor's face had disappeared and been replaced with pure anger.

"Connor, don't freak out. He's fucking joking, aye, Liam? He's always fucking joking." Liam ignored Murphy's question and began walking back towards the building. "Liam? Liam!" He realized for once, Liam wasn't joking.

"PUT IT WITH THE GODDAMN PERISHABLES!" He didn't even turn around. Even from a distance, it was obvious the old man was shaking.

The body still lay on the ground 15 minutes later. "Well, what are we going to do, then?" Murphy looked up at his brother, who was sitting on an old recliner.

Twenty minutes later, the police were entering the landfill. "Well, boys, where's this body?" Two buff, brown haired officers followed a tall man, who was obviously the detective.

They led them to the area and explained how they had found him. Strangely enough, none of them really seemed to care about the man, but more about how Connor and Murphy had found him, and where Liam was. Liam, of course, was no where to be found.

"Did ye happen to find a murder weapon?" One detective asked, eyeing the boys suspiciously.

Without hesitation, both brothers shook their heads. "No." Murphy scratched at his stomach, where the gun was still clinging to his skin.

The police had been there only about 10 minutes when the two officers said their good byes and walked towards their squad car. The detective, however, stayed behind. He was an older gentlemen, with graying hair and a thick mustache. His accent was not Irish, but seemed to be out of New York.

"Well, boys. I've got just one thing to say to yous both." He made a gesture for the boys to move closer towards him; they did. He pulled back his jacket, flashing a pistol, much larger than the one Murphy had already started reaching for. "You two better watch what the fuck you find, and who you talk to, alright? Because...we don't need to see two more bodies end up here." With that, he turned and walked back to the car, which sped away after he got in.

"What the hell is going on?" Connor sounded extremely exasperated, his eyes were wide in amazement.

"I dunno, but, we're gonna find out, aye Connor?"

"Oh, aye."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it's so short, and quite poorly written! I just wanted to update so no one thought I died or anything! Thanks to wolfchick11 and Effigy for the reviews!! **

_"Whirl your whiskey around like blazes"_

_"Thanum an Dhul do you thunk I'm dead?"_

It was Wednesday, the day the boys loved, but dreaded. Every week, they would visit their loving, caring mother. The only bad part was that, on those days, their angry, drunken mother always seemed to show up, too. The sun had yet to fully rise when the phone rang.

Connor rolled over on his stomach and thrust his pillow over his head. "Answer the fucking phone, Murphy!" There was really no need to answer, though. They both knew who it was and what she wanted.

"Hullo? Oh, hi mum." He paused, listening to his mother chatter on and on about how they should get cleaned up and look nice when they visit. "Yes, mother. Yes. Connor's in the shower righ' now. No, mother. I got up early to shower before him." Silence. "Yes, Mother. Bye." He hung up the phone, tossed it across the room, and flopped back down onto his bed. "Mother wants us there at 10. Take a shower."

"You take a shower. Ye smell like-"

"Shut it."

By 9:30, they were in a taxi, on the way to their mother's house, a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Bonnie McBride was a short , stout women in her late 50s. She bustled around the kitchen, cooking up a stew, while prying into her children's personal lives.

"Well, boys, you know I ain't gonna be 'round forever. When do I get some wee grandbabies?"

Both brothers through up their hands in a frustrated gesture, nearly knocking over the bottle of whiskey that constantly graced the table. She said the same thing every week, "get married," "take a shower," "get a girlfriend," "have some babies". And every week, the brother's replied in the same way:

"Mother, you know we haven't got enough time to start families."

Of course, it wasn't true, and their mother knew it. After working from 7 to 3, they had more than enough time to meet people, which they did, but nothing was ever serious.

She ignored the usual excuse, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and continued nagging. "Well, I've got a favour to ask you boys. No-Not a favour. You're going to do it, because you love your dear ol' mother."

At least, this time, Bonnie had corrected herself. "Favours" for her were never really favours. They were requirements and everyone knew it.

She grinned, slightly drunkenly, and began slopping stew into bowls while she spoke. "You remember Clara O'Conner?" Connor and Murphy nodded. "Well, her sister's just died, leaving her neice homeless. Now, you know that Clara don't have any room in that tiny little shack of her's and I know you two have a massive apartment, so I suggested th-"

Bonnie had never actually seen the so-called "apartment" and had assumed that it was equipped with separate rooms, a kitchen, and an enclosed bathroom. There was no way anyone could live with them, especially a woman.


End file.
